


Dura Arrives in Elyiusm

by Mercykiller



Category: LARP - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:32:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercykiller/pseuds/Mercykiller
Summary: Initial opening for a RP discourse with multiple characters. So this is a raw copy from the forum. Yet to be refined and rewritten so it reads a little smoother.Dura arrives in Elysium, a continent that is the main playing field of a LARP group I participate in each week.





	Dura Arrives in Elyiusm

She was deep into the forest tracking some quiet deer like creatures when the smell of smoke wafted across the gentle breeze that made it through the underbrush, at first she shrugged it off as some careless traveler who had made camp not far from her choice of hunting grounds and she turned away to find a more prospective area to hunt in, the smell of smoke surely scaring off any game she might catch. The effort it would take to find and tell off the offender was not worth her while when she had little ones waiting on her for their evening meal.  
But it persisted, the smoke was actually penetrating into the woodland, obscuring everything in sight and carrying with it a stronger more distinct scent. Burning meat, wood treated with sap resins, hot metal and coals.  
Inhaling deeply and almost tasting the air, Dura cocked her head to one side and watched the direction the smoke was travelling in, accounting for slight changes in the breeze and the obstruction of trees, every so often a dense patch of it would cross the sky above her and darken the sun that was setting slowly on the horizon.  
An involuntary shiver shook her as she figured out the origin point. Slinging the bow across her shoulders she sprinted madly through the bush, smashing smaller trees aside with her hands, uncaring about injuries, praying to the gods who might listen that she reach her destination on time.  
The smell was stronger now almost unbearably strong, laced with fear and anger, she could hear voices, some shrill, wailing, panicked. Others deep, commanding and furious.  
"No." She hissed and pushed through the last tangle of trees to see a village burning before her.  
Her village.  
Her people.  
The little ones.  
HER little ones!!  
With a cry she sprinted across the clearing, drawing her bow and nocking an arrow, anger and panic driving her forward, uncaring of the dangers that she would come across. Her first arrow missed it's target by inches, embedding deep into a timber pole that made up the perimeter fence, her second did not, she didn't even stop to look at her enemy but plunged head first into the fray a third arrow already strung and ready to fly into anyone stupid enough to attack her.  
Panting, limping, and drenched in blood, dragging her sword behind her, quiver empty, bow discarded long ago, Dura made it to her home, it was alight like all the rest of the huts around it, but she prayed that her little ones had made it to the hide at the back, and found refuge there like she had told them too many times before when raiders had come.  
Coughing on the smoke she squinted through the haze and spied the toys strewn across the floor, tables upended, baskets and hammocks twisted and their contents carelessly spread around the hut. Her heart hammered in her chest when she saw a small hand poking out from under a blanket.  
"No, no, no..." She whispered over and over again, leaping over the debris to get to the child, tearing back the blankets she wailed at the sight of the beaten body, dropping her sword and pulling the form towards her, clutching them desperately to her chest in hopes that her beating heart might start theirs again.  
Where was her other one, where was her daughter, that cheeky ray of light that liked to play so many pranks on her brother Ushnar?  
"Shel? SHEL!" She cried out.  
The hide!!  
Dura tore through the hut, heaving aside smashed furniture to get at the hide dug into and down from the side of the hut. She discovered it smashed in.  
"SHEL!" The wail escaped her throat as she reached in and pulled out her daughters limp body, so lifeless and ashen.  
A sound made her snap around, clutching still to her children. Voices, foreign, linting in accent but deep and gruff.  
She snarled as a figure emerged from the smoke, it wasn't one of the villagers, but it was hard to tell through the smoke and fire.  
Another voice, a crack of noise and something thumped into the wood beside her. They had missed and it was something they would soon regret.  
Laying her children down with haste but also great care she reached for the closest weapon at hand, a large tusk from a glorious hunt, fingers wrapped firming around the improvised weapon she lunged out of the smoke at her target.....  
Dura sat upright with a start suppressing the feral cry she knew would have escaped her had she not had this dream hundreds of times before. Drenched in sweat she shivered in the morning breeze, and wrapped her furs around her. She would have to re light her fire to get warm before the sun rose.  
Her journey had brought her to a new land and she was unsure of where to begin. She only knew she would get no where if she stayed south.

-

Rook was never the same after they came back the second time, an unquiet mind they said he had. Rook, for the latter has opted to agree. The death he had seen back in the lands when they had returned had marked him deeply. Those whom he tried to protect lost to the Briar, the dark nightmare of what it was. The oiliness of his hands from blood that he'd tried again and again to wash his hands of never truly was washed away. 

Dressed only in his breastplate, gauntlet covered hands and a number of bandages up along his neck, face and back. Oh, it had been hell and getting back was one of the greater things he had rather than another night sleeping in such a deathtrap. 

A fire roared before him illuminating the dark, his sword strew over his lap as he worked a stone over its blade to make it a chisel edge sharpness. His eye, the not to injured of the too looked into the fire as if wishing he could cast his own nightmares into it and watch it burn. Unknowingly for him, his camp was further down the hill from Dura for the most part could see where he was, but in this starless night. Rook's perception and night vision were useless by his own fire he'd made. 

A nearby sack with supplies was next to him, some bread, water and salted meats. Along with some bandages that he still sucked at managing or maintaining. Taking up a stick, sliding the meat on, along with a filleted fish pinned to some timber. He waited for it to cook. Sleep for him not being an option for in the day his dreams were less tormenting.

Ears pricked at the sound of something, maybe it was a bat in the night crashing into something. An orc stubbing its toe or a mouse trying to roar?  
Rooks head hurt the harder he tried to figure out the origin of that brief and rather short silenced noise. For the fact of being back, he was happier for now.

-

The light of the fire caught her eye before the smell of cooking reached her nose, making her squint through the forest at the figure who was so careless in his activities.  
That fire was much to large, did they wish to draw attention to themselves?? She wondered as her stomach growled insistently.  
Kicking dirt over her own smouldering fire she scooped up her small pouch of belongings, tying it about her waist, clutching sword in hand she descended down the hill towards the unknowing stranger. 

The smell of cooking meat made her mouth water as she got closer but would not lose her edge in her need to sate hunger. Shifting her weight carefully she crept up behind the figure. Now distinguishing him as human and looking rather injured, she saw the flash of metal across his lap and watched a moment, trying to decide if the food was worth a possible fight.  
An injured and cornered foe could turn deadly if pushed to far

-

Maybe it was old instincts but as the night wore on, Rooks ears again picked up the sounds of the night over the fire. Something from the old wars, felt eyes on the back of his neck and his hands resting over the blade slowly snaked around the handle of such a long weapon. 

"Careful," He cautioned, "If ye be lookin for a fight I have a plenty in me, but if we be looking for a peaceful breakin an sharin. I'd prefer it." Rooks words were no bluff. As wounded as he was, Rook had been in worse situations and this knight was no stranger to killing. His body as still in the firelight, the only thing that had maybe given what ever it was behind him away was the grass movement. 

He waited with baited breath, silently hoping that there were no monsters. Then again if he were to die tonight then the gods willed it. The knight waited, for the moment to react.

-

The hairs on the back of her neck bristled at the strangers words, they made no sense to her but she could pick up at least some meaning from their tone, calm, non threatening, yet forceful. His accent sounded so like the one in her nightmares, but... different, to high at the ends to what she took to be his language. It gave her pause and she circled around slowly, wanting to at least look at the stranger and read him properly. 

She let her sword hang down, it's tip dragging across the ground behind her, a clear indicator of where she was, where her weapon was and where she was heading. As she passed the mans stash of supplies her free hand darted out and snatched up the bag of dried meats, quickly looping the end of the bag through her belt.  
Dura came to a stop across from the stranger, crouching just outside the brightest light of the fire, it would be enough for the man to see who she was but give her enough distance to stay out of his sword reach and disappear into the deep shadows and forest beyond if she had to.

Her head tilted as she watched the injured man and she flashed her pointed teeth.  
"Lat ukmell like avhe vadokan" 

(Black speech translator: You smell like the dead.)

-

As a knight of the mountain, you never take all the food. Especially from him, slowly rising to stand ignoring his bodies complaint. 

A gentle touch of the talisman around his neck brought clarity. A sigh, was what came next he really didnt want a fight. But, you dont just snatch a bag from a nearby fire and expect to get off easy.

Hefting up the large two handed sword, he noted the animalistic nature like the old druids used to be. Gana he wished was here, he hoped could translate her words. 

"Look lass, ye can come eat n share the fish and lamb. But hand me the bag," he asked, pointing to the bag and tapping his bandages. 

He kept his movements slow, eyes checking the treeline encase she wasnt alone. Old instincts. As the night grew darker a nagging fear began to grow. 

He needed the bag mainly because it had the herbs to reduce pain. Rook hoped that he had enough to get back to Briarcrown.

-

She stood when the man did, mimicing his moves and keeping the fire between them.  
When he gestured at the bag she'd snatched and spoke his strange tongue her free hand hovered over it, her dagger was within easy reach behind it. It would be so easy to just run at this point, but he intrigued her with his willingness to challenge her despite the obvious pain he was in.  
Slowly unlooping the bag she opened it and sniffed the contents. An overpowering bitter smell met her nose, there was meat in there but whatever else was in there had soaked into it and would have undoubtedly soured the taste of the cured flesh. She spat to one side to clear her nose and shook the bag at man and pointed at the roasting meat that was dripping fat into the fire.  
"Have iav kurrauz, buav jiak liwo avake avhaav meaav agh leave."*  
She held the bag out and gestured again at the roasting meat, to herself then to the dark forest beyond.

*"have it back, but I will take that meat and leave."

-

Rook was careful, palming the talisman over his neck. He didnt know if it worked, but it was a mixed bag. Some could do many things. Othertimes just one. 

Muttering something in his motherd tongue and sliding his finger over a sharpenned edge. His blood lined the runes etched in old timber. 

Instead he handed the talisman, making his moves known he pointed to her and as best as Rook could asked her to hold it. If she wore it or at least held it shed understand him. Her gutteral tongue grated on his ears. Maybe this could bridge their gap. 

Taking the bag, looking at its disturbed contents. The salved had soiled the meat. Without so much as hesitation he emptied the contents nearby. 

If shed taken the offer. Or the talisman hed worn. He asked. "Now i hope can you understand me lass, I aint here for harm. But i shant shun company." He said slowly. Still standing despite the pain. 

"Names Rook. Yours?"

-

His response wasn't one she was expecting, the man was holding out a talisman to her, clearly wanting her to take it. It smelled of magic, cold yet alive, not unlike those that the shamans of her village practiced... used to practice she reminded herself.  
With a tentative step towards him, her sword lifting slowly incase he changed his mind about attacking her she took the token from him, looping it around her hand. Marvelling that the blood had not soaked into the timber.  
He'd spoken again and Dura realised with a start that even tho he had kept the accent he was speaking orcish, or maybe she was understanding him. He looked at the charm in her hand and then to him as he dumped the contents of his bag onto the ground.

"Dura, last of the Orvash clan. Are you a shaman?"

-

At her words Rook didnt break his calm demeanour.  
"Thats a druids Talisman," he added. "May what gods keep and protect the spirits of your clan." There was no mockery in his words but weighted respect. 

"In my land, we had similar orcs but we sought coexistance. Best fighters you could ever stand with, loyal friends too." Old memories of friends long gone; taken by the nightmare of the briar surfaced briefly. 

"You are welcome by my fire Dura," spoke Rook, "I am happy to share but do not mistake my hospitality for weakness."

With a nod he walked over to the pinned fish against a wooden board cooking. Along with a well cooked salted meat. Taking a knife, cutting equal shares on a carved wooden platter. Allowing the rest of the food to continue to cook. Placing the plate between the two, he offered. 

"Eat lass," spoke Rook as he began to eat. As the fire crackled Rooks eyes again looked to the treeline. Old fears. Old habits.

-

Dura snorted at Rook's comment towards her gods.  
"I hope my peoples spirits are free and far from the reach of the gods, they like the games and we are just the toys." She muttered and turned the talisman between her clawed fingers, inspecting every inch.  
"Druid..mmm.. feel colder than shamans." She spoke the word a couple times and eyed the tall man.  
"We had peace in homeland with folk like you, uneasy, tense. It was other clans that we fought."  
Satisfied that he would not harm her she sat down roughly and put her sword across her knees, tucking the charm up into the furs around her wrist and watched on as Rook portioned the food, noticing he flicked his gaze past the fire and into the dark every so often.  
"Just us, deer over there." She scooped up a small portion of the fish, with her fingers and titled her head in the direction of the deer in question.  
"Small camp that way, but far far away and no scouts." She pointed behind Rook with the oily hand and scooped up another portion, savouring the flavour this time before swallowing the mouthful.  
With a free hand she dug around in the pouch on her waist, feeling around until she found what she was after. A small amberlike stone wrapped in cording and wire, beads and a stray feather decorated the cording.  
"For food.... and not fighting me." She held out the token and flashed her teeth again.

-

With a nod. He accepted the gift. "Violence is never the best answer," he spoke mostly to the fire than her. "I want nothing more than peace."

At her mention of the nearby deer along the woodline. A knot sat in his stomach, a cold lump that made him bristle with fear. 

Bringing his thoughts to the now he continued. "That Talisman requires blood from the one you wish to understand." 

Taking a mouthful of his meat, the deer was gone. "My home was destroyed by a force that turned nature and the land against us. Old habits linger." 

Without warning it seemed to melt out of the darkness near the fire. Its head was a deer, yet the inky blackness pooled from its eyes, mouth and nose. Its limbs were a mixture of Tree, rotten fleshy limbs of animals and stretched muscle sinnew. 

It simply waited by the fire for the moment transfixed by the fire. Rook between slow chews breathed in his mothers tongue. Then whispered. "Be ready to face a nightmare or be ready to run."

-

"Peace fickle and strained, people know not what to do with themselves. Never lasts." Dura grunted matter of factly and wolfed down more handfuls of fish, licking fingers clean when she was done. Waving a finger at the trinket she had given Rook and sighed. She had not wanted to part with it but it felt right to give it to this man, like another was guiding her.  
"Keep close, Shel made it. She always said it was lucky." 

She had not heard the creature approach but when it materialized next to them Dura was on her feet in an instant, sword clutched in one hand and dagger drawn.  
With a snarl she didn't even wait to hear Rooks words but flew at the creature, throwing the dagger ahead of her and seeing it embed into the side of the creatures skull, it wavered, looking directly at her now and screamed.  
Dura screamed back guttural and filled with murder rage, and drove her sword into the chest of the beast with both hands, bodily slamming into it.  
Dragging her sword out she found her hands covered in black ooze, her sword dripping with the same fluid and she recoiled, almost letting go of her only weapon.  
Instead she turned it into fury, snatching her dagger free and kicking the abomination away from her.

-

The creature seemed almost inhuman, unmoved at the orcs wild thrashing. The kick causing it to take a step back, tilting its head to the side the deer's mouth seemed to open and stretch as the black inky substance drooled from the creatures eyes and nose. A mixture of a deaths rattle, what remained of the creatures vocal chords created a low thrum, almost a low growl gurgling growl. Yes it had made a scream before, echoing out into the darkness, the ooze covering the orcs hands seemed to become more viscous. Locking the fingers and sluggishly spreading with a horrific slowness. 

Rook had hefted himself up, breathing heavily as the wounds he'd had bandaged threatened to come undone. The voices within his mind had become a roaring madness, some calling him murderer, others a traitor and some a failure. The sword in his hands felt heavy, heavier than it had been in the past. 

A gold pendant with three blue stones felt warm against his chest, a gentle reassurance of hope against this all consuming despair he felt threatened to overcome his reason. His hand coiled around the gold pendant, almost crushing it under his gloves. "One more time eh?" He whispered, "No more past memories." The strength to persevere grew once more, the demons in his mind seemed to shy back from clouding him.

Taking up one of the large sticks in the fire, he moved to assist the orc. The creature its attention on the orc, although hulking and large. Though slow, with bony protrusions as the fire flickered moved, the first sweep of its claws breaking under the orcs guard. Lifting her up, as the second blow came to drive the orc into the dust, Rook moved in. Catching the creatures second claw over his own sword. The fire in the staff burned and briefly as its light burned over the Orcs arms the ichor that was growing seemed to recede, dry and burn away. 

However blocking the blow had come with a cost, blood pooled down and around his arms. The creatures talon like arms, the one that was cut off landed behind him. Sheered off by its own force, the Orc, if it had the ability would have landed on her back or best be winded. The creature tilted its face, curious and amused but unmoved by the loss of its limb as if pain was non-existent.

With the sound of snapping bones and tearing of flesh it formed something more terrifying. Its skin taking from that of the other creatures it had previously consumed. Hefting the burning stick, its remaining hand shifted to a long bony protrusions that resembled talons. With a move faster than Rooks eyes could see, they sliced through the burning stick as if it were made from paper sending the burning end trailing up into the night sky.

"Get more flaming timbers!" He barked, the creature didn't wait. Its prey was already wounded, in a thrust combo, Rook was swatted aside towards the fire, he bounced with a sudden thud and slid doubled over a hole in his side leaving a crimson trail. Meanwhile the flaming stick had now began to fall. If luck was a god, it was fickle, it were fate then at least she had a sense of dark humor. The burning stick, descended like a falling smoldering star back before embedding in its lower back and with a distressed roar the creature slowly caught fire. However, without more fire it could go out.

-

Dura cried out in frustration as the ickor crept up her arms, locking her hands together around her sword and dagger. She felt the rise of bile that came with fear fill her throat and with great effort swallowed and pushed it down. She still had her weapon, she could and would fight until the creature was dead or she was.

The moments it took to control her fear distracted her from the creatures attack and she felt herself knocked back, the wind pushed from her lungs and leaving her gasping. She almost missed Rook touching fire to her arms to get rid of the black ooze as she blinked away spots of light in her eyes. Pushing herself up to a crouching position she crawled to the edge of the fire and stuck her weapons deep into the flames burning off any remaining black ooze. When she pulled her hands out she ditched the dagger and instead pulled out a burning branch. 

Sword in one hand flaming stick in the other she quickly put herself between Rook and the creature.

"Gajutar curse you and be cruel in hunt when I send you to him." Dura growled hefting the branch and throwing it like a spear, the creature easily batted it aside but in the shower of sparks and flames it's view of Dura was obscured.  
A second later Dura launched herself at the creature, sword between teeth flaming branches in both hands, burying the ends of them deep into oozing decayed flesh, relishing at the squeal of pain as the fire took hold. The creature batted her aside, tearing through her hides and flesh alike in it's frenzy to tear the burning branches from itself, Dura rolled out of the blow and came at it again, snatching up more branches as she passed the fire. The heat from them was slowly burning her hands but she wouldn't stop until either the creature or herself was dead.  
Ducking another swipe she skidded under it and buried the timber into its belly scrambling out of the way as a taloned foot stamped down at her, it missed her body but caught her skirt. The creature almost sounded satisfied when it gurgled the ooze down at her, leering over as if to finish her off.  
"Hope Gajutar kills you slow." She snarled, spitting the sword out and sweeping it across to sever its head, followed quickly by the leg that was pinning her, pulling her legs up and in as the creature toppled forwards, she launched it bodily into the fire that was behind them with her legs.  
Pushing herself up she unceremoniously kicked the head and limb in after it before limping over to Rook.

-

Rook coughed, before rolling over. Only to wince as a blade of his own was embedded through his stomach. 

The talon that had punctured a hole had leaked a trail to the fire. Still, between blood stained teeth and hard breaths he forced himself to sit by the fire. 

"Here death... isnt as .... permanent," he breathed. "You just forget, wake up.... but... i dont." He coughed before grunting painfully. Casting him to silence as he looked at the orc. 

A laugh, broke the silence. As much as it hurt Rook laughed, "Aye, ye did good. A fine fighter," he looked to the food. Things that were displaced and such a creature burning away. 

"Ye gonna finish me eh?" He gested, "I dont fear death. But i dont want to forget a friend." From the wounds Rook had without an exceptional healer Rook would pass briefly. 

His eyes turned to the fire. "What say ye?"

-

"Strange land, stranger people." Dura muttered and pushed Rooks hand away from the dagger in his side, she couldn't remember much of what her village healers taught her, only that you shouldn't pull out a weapon unless you could fix the wound.

"I'm not sending you to your gods yet, going to get you to that camp, had funny blue dressed people in it, they'll have healer." She said casting her gaze over the strewn possessions that had once been an otherwise orderly camp site.  
Spotting the bandages and the upended jar of bitter ointment Dura limped over and scooped them up, bringing them back to Rook. Digging out the spoiled parts she sniffed the ointment again.  
"Anything this bitter must be for healing." More to herself than to Rook and began to cover his wounds in the stuff, wrapping them tightly afterwards, pushing the cleanest of bandages into the hole from the talon and wrapping it up as well.  
"I do not hear Dretha so you will not die tonight, see the sun rises" She tilted her head to the east and the slimmest of blue bands was making itself known on the horizon.

After collecting up her things and bundling up Rooks, she prodded the burning corpse of the creature with her sword for good measure, it's body hissed as the ooze boiled away, then it's body caved in, folding in on itself as if burnt from the inside out, the head was almost back to the bone by the time Dura had hoisted Rook up and looped his good arm over her shoulder and began the slow trek to the camp.

-

It the trek was slow, for Rook it felt like an eternity. It hurt to breathe and further as time wore on Rook found it harder to lift his feet. The weapon that had ran him through felt like it weighed alot more than it should. 

He toppled twice as his legs gave out, his skin had turned to a ghostly hue of white. 

Between pain and moving Rook actually thought that death was actually creeping. Walking behind taking its time. Then a jolt of pain blew through his delerium faster than a herbalists laxative prank on a warband leader.

Between hard breaths he swore in his mothers tongue. By now the talisman of tongues would have worn off. As it only worked on the person whose blood it touched to allow the other to be understood.

As they drew closer to the lights of the camp, something watched before slinking back into the dark.

-

When Rook would stumble Dura would pause in their long slow trek and check him over, changing the bandages that had started to soak through, taking patience only a mother had to wait for him to regain some strength and set off again. She made sure he drank water often knowing the the blood loss would effect his perceptions of thirst.  
She began to softly tell him stories of her children. How Shel had teased her brother because he'd lost a fight but quietly been proud he was standing up for her.  
When Ushnar had brought home the first of many animals in hope he might keep just it as a pet.  
It was in hope that it would keep him awake and focused on something other than the pain.  
"Almost there, can smell their fires." She encouraged, her own wounds were beginning to wear her down but she had lived through worse and survived in the end.  
When Rook began speaking in the language she didn't understand she paused, shaking the talisman out from her sleeve she eyed the darkened stains where once fresh blood had sat.  
"Shatroug's playuk lav-li gameuk.*" She cursed and pushed on, being able to understand the dying man was less of her concern than actually getting him fixed. He would not last much longer either.

Arriving on the camps edge Dura paused, the last time she'd entered such a place all weapons had been turned on her, the people less than inviting and had driven her off.  
"Rook neun healaumn.**" She said to herself and walked through the gates, the people closest to her recoiled slightly at the sight of the bloodied pair, but it was looks of surprise rather than disgust.  
Rook looks like he was being dragged at this point, the only thing keeping him up was Dura's grip.  
Heads turned from the festivities that were abound in the camp, an odd mix of races in one spot and all dressed in blue, with a white bird.  
"Help. Sharog! Neun sharog!***"  
A younger human girl looked towards the larger of the buildings then back at the pair.  
"Get Kaya! And make sure she has her med kit!!" She barked at the person closest to her, who scampered off in the direction of the big building.

In that moment several others had come to help take Rook from Dura who released him tentively, puzzling over why none were aiming weapons at her, angrily yelling as if she was the cause of the wounds. Had they seen orcs before? Why did they not attack? Questions for another time.  
She followed the group that was laying Rook down in one of the nearby tents when a short figure with a mess of reddish brown hair appeared next to her, hand darted to her weapon instinctively, a snarl on her lips that withered away as the now obvious dwarf looked down at the injured man.  
"Ancestors below...what have you tangled with this time Rook." The dwarf muttered and looked up at Dura.  
"Thank you for bringing my friend here. But you're a face we haven't seen before....aaaand you don't understand me." Kaya trailed off when Dura's look of confusion grew.  
"Ayh lat sharog? Fix naj-ri." Dura mimed sewing and touched the wounds on herself then pointed at Rook looking somewhat distressed before remembering the talisman around her wrist.  
Quick as lightning her dagger was out and Kaya's arm was clutched in a clawed hand the knife cutting into the skin, letting the blade fall so she could hold the talisman under the flow of blood, only looking up to find every avaliable weapon pointed at her.  
"Fix him, fix Rook." She said again releasing Kaya's arm now that fresh blood flowed into the charm.  
"I will, but touch me like that again and I will gut you even if it costs us our friendship with the Ironclaw." Hissed Kaya, less than impressed with the new orcs behaviour.  
"Someone get me fresh bandages, lots of them. Tell Fallon to boil some water and prep the healing herbs. You... hold him down if he trashes." The last statement directed at Dura who nodded slowly.

*Shatroug's playing her games.  
**rook needs healing  
***help, healer! Need healer.  
Are you healer? Fix him

-

As layers were pulled back, the hole where the creature struck and had punched as cleanly through his armour as if it were merely butter. A crippling wound,as for the greatsword, it was s surprise the man was even able to walk when skewered so. With a shudder Rook awoke, violently coughing as he wound it hard to breathe, crimson flecked on his lips. 

Was he dead yet? Then he saw the dwarf, between the hazes of consciousness. Last time it hurt, was he going to get himself verbally berated again. Then, as an abrupt explosion of pain caused him to stiffen consciousness left the man. Yet another had only just arrived. 

Grit. A stark contrast to Rook. Its hands concealed between weathered plate gauntlets, his face cast into shadow of his hood. Regardless this dead ones attention rested over the dying man, as would a true agent of death. As the night wind blew, a leathery face partly rebuilt by the lifeforce of souls regarded the orc and dwarf with contempt. 

"My, an Orc, saving a life. It has gone soft, has it not?" The gauntlet clinked resting on the hilt of his sword which remained sheathed. "Why not just let him die, we all know here death is but an oddity." A smirk pursed his lips briefly. What humanity this creature had only answered to his own of Dark horde. Especially the one whom raised him to undeath known as Morgath. 

Some looked cautiously to this figure that seemingly stepped into the light.  
Had he come for the Orcs soul, or Rooks. Or others here. Grit rarely had been left alone to his own devices. But Grit hunted, stalked and fought with a darkness and ruthlessness rarely seen. Sometimes he'd drive his own sword completely through a foe to revel in their painful demise. Others he'd rip the soul out from to gain him more humanity. 

Rook was in no shape to face this fellow. Yet like death it waited for a response, almost provocatively towards Dura. Yet, if asked to leave without hostile intent. Grit would leave. He only had come here following the blood.

-

Kaya's attention was now solely focused on Rook, she worked meticulously and with great care, now was not the time for her usual berating sass that usually accompanied her surgeon style. The wounds had been packed well but the strain of the fight he had surely gone through had worsened his previous wounds.  
A Wren returned with a large steaming bowl of water and some more of the healers kit the Wrens kept in the Tavern.  
When he woke coughing more blood Dura held him down while Kaya worked, washing out the wounds and packing the worse with blood clotting creams.  
"Hush, you're in safe hands Rook, breath and stay with us." Kaya reassured him and wrapped thick wadding around the deepest of cuts. Her hands busy with the needle and gut thread she didn't register the new comer to the tent. 

Dura leapt to her feet when the stranger in black called her soft, she stepped right in close almost chest to chest with the figure that reeked of rot and decay.  
"This land is new to me, death is death where I am from and I will not see Rook pass when he has shown great strength. You know nothing. Get out! You have no business here, wearer of death." She growled, pushing up against the hooded figure in an attempt to push him out of the tent.

Kaya looked up and twisted around from her seated position next to Rook, her hands speckled with blood and still holding a needle.  
"Enough, this is not the time nor place, either help me or leave, the both of you. I don't know what a Dark Horde member is doing so far from his warband but I don't care unless he starts a fight. Orc, unless you want to stay and rest in the Tavern, your job here is done. If you want to leave, the last I saw Ironclaw they were west of here. Now away both of you." Kaya heaved a sigh and turned back to her bloody work.

-

Grit couldnt understand a word the orc was barking. A smirk, those cold lifeless eyes regarded the orc with contempt. That was until the dwarf butted in, tending to the warm corpse of a man. 

"I doubt this orc could," he responded. "Orcs that care for others outside their clans are seen as weak. But, a fight it wants if its out of your camp. Dont be surprised if i let this one limp back alive." 

With a shove that had the strength of an undead to the orc he moved to the camp. Grit guessed that this orc could be a wren. But if it wanted a fight so be it. 

As for Rook, it took an hour or more before he was stable. The wounds he had suffered before the conflict had torn open from the strenuous force from blocking the creature. 

Still. Oddly Rook had began to burn up as if from a fever. Which in turn was strange.

-

"What is Ironclaw?" The question had just left Dura's lips when the dark stranger shoved her aside, bodily throwing her to the dirt on his way out of the tent. The blow left her coughing and she felt a pinch of a fractured rib when she suck in a lungful of air.  
She remained crouching for a moment, measuring this stranger up as she caught her breath, he hadn't understood her, the charm only worked on one person at a time but she had understood what he had said, all the people in this land had a common tongue, one she would have to learn soon.  
Dura wanted to fight, this stranger had just insulted her, her clan, her beliefs and her choice of actions all in one fell swoop, how she wished to drive her weapons through his body and watch him die slowly.  
She wanted desperately to ask Rogtar for strength but her wounds had now brought her to the point of exhaustion. It would do her no good to fight now and leave her task unfinished and her soul to remain tormented forever.  
Through gritted teeth and a sharp curse Dura pushed herself up.  
"Nalkruska kulknej meeav again jiak'll drepa lat.*" She spat towards the feet of the stranger, threw an obscene gesture in his direction, turned on her heels and stalked from the camp, she'd walked out the northern gate but she soon turned west, she wasn't sure what or who this Ironclaw was but it was something to head for, Kaya seemed to think she was part of them, perhaps they had answers.

When Rook spiked with fever Kaya cursed, had she been to late to fix him? Was there a wound that had gotten infected? Was there a cut she had missed? Methodically working from head to toe, she checked him over, gently turning his head and lifting limbs. No she'd covered every scrape he'd received with either a bandage, ointment, herbs or a combination of all 3.  
"Fuck." She swore a hand now placed on his forehead to gauge the temperature, to hot, and his body was shivering. This wasn't good.  
"Shit, fuck, stone mother stop me from flipping a fucking table." She sprinted from the tent to fetch some blankets and ice from the taverns in an attempt to bring down his fever.

*When we meet again I'll kill you

-

Grit had waited and he watched. As an undead his hatred for orcs burned hotter than any coal. 

As far as he was concerned, she shouldnt have left the camp so early. With a song of resonating steel Grits weapon was drawn and the hunt had just begun. 

\---

As hours wore on Rooks condition stayed the same. But further checking his wounds revealed a slight darkenning around the wound. Almost like a bruise yet not. 

It wasnt until the next few days did Rook stir. Regardless of his wounds he seemed more quiet. Reserved and exhausted but also an aversion to flame.

-

The Wrens looked on as Dura left the camp, they had no reason to get between her and Grit and none wanted to be the reason Dark horde came after them the next time they met. 

She moved slowly north, limping and feeling the ache in her bones that was her body's way of saying she should rest. But she pushed on, she would rest when she found a suitable den to crawl into to hide even if that was several days from now.  
As the sun began to set she turned west into the fading light and began to hunt small game using a small improvised bow and the few arrows that hadn't been damaged in her right with the demon.  
Every so often she would turn and check behind her, sometimes glimpsing a dark figure moving towards her but othertimes there was nothing.  
She had some success snaring a few small rabbits which she hung from her belt, one she skinned immediately and began to eat raw, she would cook the rest when she found a place to camp.  
Just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon she found a small stream and stopped to refill her waterskin and was off the previous days grime from her arms and face.

-

As she rose there was Grit, hooded as death, his blade drawn its tip in the ground both gauntlets wrapped around its hilt. 

When the wind blew it was cold, moving the frayed edges of the black coak. Between its frayed fabric was weathered heavy steel, rusted mail. 

Like a rustling of dried leaves his breath generated a low rumbling growl. A rage of cold unrelenting hatred. 

As Grits gaze rose, those milky whites met those of this orc. His lips twisting into an inhuman smile of malice. 

An age had passed and yet his dislike for orcs burned hotter than any of his own towards such beasts. 

Hed take this ones soul to replenish his own

-

The waterskin fell to the ground as her hands flew to her weapons, gripping to their leather bindings.  
"So deaverminun avo fighav deaavh wearer?" She growled back at him, already knowing by his posturing that he was going to attack her regardless of what was said by her, she could see the hatred in his face. All she could do was prepare herself for the inevitable.   
She'd seen the same looks in rival clans, grudges with whom went back generations and who's reason was lost to the gods.  
She'd seen it in the humans who while did not attack her or her kind still spat their disgust at their feet. 

Slowly she drew her weapons, the dagger and the sword. Waiting.

*so determined to fight death wearer?

-

Not one for theatrics, as her arms went to draw he advanced bringing his blade in a low to upper arch. 

The attack was an openner the first to force and break her guard. No restraint came from Gritt as he advanced, no warcry only the sound of ringing steel. 

Grits rage was as cold as the mountain peaks and as cruel as the oceans storms. A human would have been driven back at the ferocity of the first blow. 

Instead of a blade came a metal fist, crunching into her side. Grit had never been one to toy with creatures that were mortal. 

He watched her stumble. But he would watch her break. Grit would humour this fight, but it would end the same. 

"Pity, I didnt think you were this predictable." He rumbled. The next blow he was going to make would be with sword.

-

She'd only managed to wrap fingers around the hilt of her dagger when his sword swung at her. She instinctively leant back and to one side to avoid the up coming swing of the sword, her other hand now managing to get a grip on the sword. Instead the usual whoosh of a sword cutting air just shy of her position there came a clank of plate and suddenly there was a fist in her side. Dura felt a snap and a sharp burst of pain as one of her already fracture ribs snapped. She hissed between clenched teeth, it sent her staggering but given her the chance to finally draw her weapons.   
She was backed into a corner now, badly hurt, exhausted and running on very little food or sleep.  
He was fresh, unrelenting and had the longer reach of the two of them.   
She would have to get in under his guard for her to be effective.   
Was he was talking at her again? There was noise coming from his mouth but she couldn't understand it.   
"Rogtar, Jiak cannoav mat yeav.*" She muttered, hoping the god of strength was paying attention.   
As he swung at her again she ducked, ignoring the jarring pain in her side as she dropped. Her dagger was still in an overhand grip when she stepped in close to him, with a flick she reversed it and drove it up towards his armpit or at the very least between a couple of ribs.   
She knew an unavoidable hit was coming for being so close.

"*I cannot die yet."

-

He watched the expression go from focus to shock the orcs eyes widening momentarily, bared teeth at its ripple effect. Pain was something Grit had lost and like a corpse could no longer feel. Those milky eyes revealed nothing, for there was no soul. Exhaustion hung on this creature, making her moves slower almost predictable. 

Bringing his blade to around, she moved in close those eyes watched and with dried lips he smiled. As the blade slid under his elbow, striking bone. He felt the force, but the dead flesh was dead flesh. Bringing his arm down, he pinned her arm along with the dagger. Pressing it against plate. With the sword in one hand, he drove the blade through her foot pinning her momentarily. As she cried out in pain again, removing the sword and allowing her arm to be free he lifted her up as if she were as light as an empty coin purse a gauntlet covered hand around her throat in a vice like grip.

Maybe if he brought Morgath her head, at least something of his victory. A fragment of soul, or something more. He contemplated, while she struggled to draw breath watching her color shift with an disregard for her struggling. No, Morgath would want something more than this weak one. Tilting his head to the side he dropped her, allowing her a brief respite. Removing the dagger under his arm, he returned the favor. Embedding it in hers instead. 

"Skraw an'st mat lis el ulm is yarn." he spoke in her tongue, turning on his heel and sheathing his sword. With a slow gate like death he walked away. He would find something worthy for Morgath, a soul or a beast he cared not. 

*Crawl and die like the worm you are

-

Dura cringed when her arm was pinned, she twisted and pulled but it was for nothing. Her hand was locked in place.

She saw the his swing coming down and smashed at the blow with her own sword, pushing the blow just off so that when the blade sunk into her foot it cut through meat on the outside edge rather than the tendons and bone.   
It still made her scream, which he cut short when he grabbed her around the throat. She kicked wildly, sinking sharped claw like nails into his hand that were holding her and gasping for breath. Her vision quickly began to blur over and she swung wildly with her sword , hearing it smack uselessly into metal plate and chainmail she brought it down on his arm instead hoping to find weakness there or at least forcing him to let go. Her vision had blacked out when he dropped her, a clawed hand ripping a chunk of fabric from his robe on the way down and all she felt was a searing pain in her arm as he drove her own dagger into her arm.  
"Maausan avhe goduk avormenav lat." She spat back at him with pure malice, blood flecking her lips. 

She watched him disappear before allowing herself to really cry out in pain when she pulled the dagger from her flesh and pulled herself up. She glanced at the fabric in her hand, barely half a white symbol was woven into the black fabric, what it meant she would find out another time.   
Limping heavily back to the river she picked up her fallen water skin, along with her small bag, pulling out strips of fabric and binding her wounds. 

Dura looked around and spotted a small cluster of trees she could hide in until the sun rose again, it wasn't what she had hoped but she was to injured to continue. 

"May the gods torment you."

-

She almost didn't light a fire but her wounds also needed searing shut if she was going to move from the area any time soon and continue to the west.  
While her dagger heated over the outside embers she skinned the last of the rabbits that had survived unmangled from the fight, burying the guts, head and pelt in an effort to hide her path when she moved on, and placed them over the fire to cook.  
Slowly she peeled off her boot, blood had already soaked well and truly into the leather and a large chunk of sliced skin flapped from the side of her foot, although clotting it was still oozing blood, a good sign that it would heal unless it got infected. Tearing a strip of cloth from her shirt and holding it in her mouth, she inhaled deeply and pulled her dagger from the fire, pressing it against the wound, the skin and wet blood fizzling and searing the wound closed. Dura was silent through the whole process, she refused cry out for something like this.  
Returning the dagger to the fire she wrapped the fabric strip around her foot and slid the boot back on.  
She repeated the process for her arm and redressed the wound. There was nothing she could do for her ribs except wait and hoped they healed quickly.

She spent the night awake, unwilling to sleep but instead for focus in sharpening her weapons, making sure that their edges were ready for the next foe she would meet.  
When the sun rose, the first rays of light peeking over the horizon she covered up her camp sight, and started heading west again. She ached from head to toe, she was limping heavily and anything above a shallow breath caused her pain.


End file.
